Wild, wet and windy......

      It's been a funny old week when running was reduced to a meagre 9 miles. I'd an appointment with my doctor 8.30 Tuesday morning which effectively put paid to any thought of a pre-dawn run to watch the sun rise.  

      I did manage to get my bum out of bed early on Wednesday though the weather was pretty atrocious in our neck of the woods, very much a prelude to the main act the following day when Storm Doris took to the stage.  

A bit windy on Wednesday (Click pictures to enlarge)

      I was buffeted all over the place with a violence that took my breath away. After battling slithery, waterlogged fields and muddy slopes I aborted after 3 miles and actually toyed with the idea of going back to bed.  I resisted.

...and muddy

      Though Thursdays are normally running days there was no way I was going to venture out to battle with Storm Doris.  I switched the TV on for latest updates but could hardly hear it for the wind howling down the chimney.  Bird feeders were swinging all over the place and a silver birch in next door's garden was intermittently bending to near 45º.  All my crocuses wisely stayed shut.

It's rough up here in the Pennines...

Watch dog at Woodhouse Farm

      For all sorts of reasons both Friday and Saturday were non-days. An upsetting piece of news told me one of my mentors, Derek Ibbotson, who'd been suffering from dementia, had died in a local care home at the age of 84. The same age as me.  He was a Longwood Harrier and one time world record holder for the mile with 3.57.2  
R.I.P. Ibbo, you did our club proud.

Getting blown about a bit at Burnsall

      So it was Sunday before I donned my running gear again for a 6 mile run round Appletreewick (encouraged by a good kick up the backside from my wonderful partner!). The brief rest had done me good for I was running smoothly and easily from the word go.  Relatively speaking...

Running easy - into Appletreewick

      The River Wharfe was swollen after the previous days persistent rain and paths were a bit puddly as we set off into a cold, 14mph south west wind.  Other than a pair of goosanders, the odd mallard and a gull that circled me on Burnsall Bridge, we saw little in the way of bird life. 

Dancing along the river bank - leaving Appletreewick

      Walkers were out in force and I'd to reprimand one little group for leaving gates unfastened, a common occurrence that really annoys me (that, and cyclists who hurtle up behind me on narrow roads with no warning and others who hardly ever acknowledge my greetings).

Getting my hair blown off on Burnsall Bridge - and that circling bird

      Dunno whether it was the lay of the land or the winding of the river, but the wind that was against us on the way out was also against us on the way back.  Luckily, we'd warmed up by then so it wasn't much of a problem. For me!

      We were home for lunch.  It rained for the rest of the day...

Weren't we lucky?

Curlews, and the Snowdrop run......

      After a couple of 4 mile runs over the Castle mid-week it was time to up the mileage a bit on Saturday.  We set off to visit the village of Linton on what we call the snowdrop run.

The Snowdrop run   (Click pictures to enlarge)

      After recent rain it was a bit clarty alongside the Wharfe and I was skidding around a bit in my worn down studs. But if old ladies could cope with it, albeit with walking sticks, then so could I.

Beside the River Wharfe

      The temperature had risen to double figures and I could feel the warmth of the sun on bare legs. Hopefully, it will soon be warm enough for bare arms too for the start of my summer tan.

Running towards Linton Falls

      A loud roar filled the air as we approached the 'tin bridge' at Linton Falls where white water was thundering over the rocks and over the twin weirs beyond.

Bridge over troubled waters

      A pair of gaudy mallard were laying claim to a wee island in calmer water above the falls. We hoped they'd have enough sense not to nest there for they'd be in real danger of being washed away after the next heavy storm.

Mallard

      Leaving the falls we took a route through fields from Threshfield school to cross and re-cross the old dismantled railway line to pick up a mossy lane to Linton village.

Weir(d)

      Running up the hill beyond the school we were stopped in our tracks by the wonderful sound of the first curlew back to our area. It could have been navigating along the Wharfe to a favoured nest site in some quiet pasture. It's a favourite bird and a favourite sound I look forward to hearing each year, a sound that tells me winter is over, that Spring and new life are blossoming in the dale.

Ted Hughes was inspired to write:
Curlews in April
Hang their harps over the misty valleys
A wobbling water-call
A web-footed god of the horizons

New moons sink into the heather
And full golden moons
Bulge over spent walls

Mossy lane to Linton

      In a few more minutes we were passing through the gates of Linton House where lawns were smothered with shining white snowdrops, the most we'd ever seen. But perhaps we say that every year when we visit this site.

Snowdrops at Linton House

      Reluctantly, we left them to jog through the pretty little village, watching mallard playing in the water by the bridge and revelling in the warmth of sun on our bodies before striking steeply uphill to Langerton Lane and the hidden hamlet of Thorpe.

Running down to Thorpe

      Daffodils buds were thinking seriously about opening in a wild bit of garden where aconites and snowdrops were flowering among a mass of fallen berries.  And hiding among them was a solitary primrose, a bright splash of yellow in the kaleidoscope of colour.

Early primrose

      From Thorpe we'd a mile of enjoyable downhill running to the suspension bridge over the Wharfe before striking up through the ghyll back to our village. A steady 7 miles to put our snowdrop run to bed for another year.

Back to the suspension bridge

      We were up early on Sunday morning for what's becoming a regular run round Grimwith reservoir. And we were glad we did. The sky was burnished copper as we drove towards Dibbles Bridge but it disappeared behind the hills as we turned into the huge bowl of Grimwith.

Waterfowl at Grimwith

      A noisy gang of oystercatchers wheeled away over the water as we ran across the dam.  Then greylags kicked up a rumpus as we passed a favourite grazing area below the old ruined barn.

On our regular run

      But best of all, a pair of curlews were calling across the water and another solitary one answered from the moor high on our left.  Before that we'd spotted a lone lapwing but further along a whole flock of them took to the air as we approached.

Toiling uphill to the finish

 All those harbingers of Spring lifted our spirits and filled our hearts with joy.  And a field of lambs at Turf Gate on our drive home only added to the euphoria. 

      A couple of hours later in a crowded chapel in Grassington I'd an awful lot to be thankful for. 

      I'm sure I out-sang everyone.  Judging by the looks I got......      

Four seasons

      A light covering of snow on last Thursday's morning run over Castle Hill.

Snow  (Click to enlarge)

 Ice on a proposed Sunday morning run round Grimwith with a wind chill of -5ºC. Not wearing Yaktrax we aborted on grounds it was too dangerous.

Ice

      Cold, clammy mist on Tuesday's run.

Mist

      A gorgeous sunrise on today's (Thursday) run.

Sunrise

There are new born lambs in the fields, crocuses are flowering, oystercatchers are back on the river and feathered friends are coming to the bird table in pairs. 

Can Spring be far away?

Clothes don't always make the man......

      "Charles Booth please" a voice shouted my Sunday name from somewhere down the corridor in the Plastic Surgery unit. I set off in the direction from whence it came but no-one was there. I pushed partially opened doors. Rooms were deserted.  Eventually two nurses appeared, chatting cheerfully. One of them checked my name and led me to a room where an immaculately dressed man sat at a table peering stony faced at notes in front of him.  

      "Ah, the gentleman I came up in the lift with" I said, recognizing him. I assumed it was Mr Mahajan, for that was the name on the appointment form. But he didn't have the courtesy to introduce himself.  Without so much as a glance he ordered "Sit down" - as if he was speaking to a dog. Immediately my hackles rose.  I took off my coat, ready for him to inspect the eruptions on my back and arm. 

      "Where was the biopsy taken from?" he asked. I pointed to the wee scar on my forehead. He got up from his chair, yanked my head round to examine the spot, then proceeded to do a little drawing of my forehead, shading the area where he planned to operate and telling me there'd be a little scar afterwards. Meanwhile the nurse, Amanda, unceremoniously stuck a swab stick up both my nostrils to test for bacteria. 

      I told him about the potential BCC's on my back and on my arm, how they itched and sometimes bled onto the bed sheets. He wasn't even listening. "That's all, you'll receive an appointment for day surgery in two to three weeks".  

Like hell I will, not with you matey. As soon as I got home I rang the hospital to cancel the operation, effectively discharging myself.   I don't want to see that rude, ill mannered and unfriendly Mr Mahajan (?) again, ever.

New vest, courtesy of Terry Lonergan at 'Complete Runner'   (Click to enlarge)

Running-wise, it was another poor week. Twice I'd rolled out of bed in darkness, donned my running gear and stuck my nose out the door to start my run only to find it was windy, raining and misty.  I aborted on both occasions, not wishing to get cold in my eye to aggravate any remaining inflammation. 

My guardian angel at Cupola Corner on Saturday's run 

      So it was Saturday before I braved the elements to set off with my wonderful partner for an 8 mile run over Bycliffe Hill.  It had forecast wall to wall sunshine in the afternoon but guess what, we'd set off in the morning into a nithering south westerly and sporadic showers.  And where did the first shower hit us?  At 1,500ft on the windiest and most exposed part of the moor.  I didn't mind, I'd stopped to don a windproof jacket and my eyes were protected with wrap around shades and a cap.

A sprinkling of snow at the marker cairn

      To make things more atmospheric and enjoyable there was a light dusting of snow across the higher part of the moor, highlighting a sheep trod all the way across to the Mossdale track. The shower soon fizzled out to allow a smooth 3½ mile run for home, down the long wall and into the ghyll just as the sun came out again.   It would, wouldn't it, when we'd nearly finished.

Back into the ghyll as the sun came out

      I've a bit of catching up to do this coming week - between a visit to my doctor and an appointment with the optician...... 

I sometimes wonder if I'm starting to get old?